Kohler: Silly parents, sports ain't for kids

During the third most-watched television show ever — the recent Super Bowl — my long-held belief that the best seat for a sporting event is in your house was proved true again.

The “Go to the Game” vs. “Watching From Your Couch” argument has been discussed more than Manti Te’o’s “girlfriend.” It always seems the edge goes to watching at home due to easy bathroom access.

I was enjoying friends and a Norristown buffet (Eve’s Zeps, Vio Veneto wings, Corropolese tomato pie),when the topics of the Eagles’ ticket-price increase and the upcoming sale of Phillies single game and ticket packages arose.

“How are you supposed to be able to take your kids to the game?” wondered a friend.

It stopped me in my Doritos-dusted, blue cheese-stained tracks.

Even though I heard it many times before, the naïve statement still dumbfounds me.

Did he just finish watching the same halftime show I did, featuring Beyonce wearing leather, lace and little else and strutting her enviable stuff?

I am a fan of hers so I enjoyed it. I’m sure the NFL’s demographic of men 24-35 liked it for completely different reasons. I doubt the NFL was thinking about what an 8-year-old thought of it. There is an ongoing myth that professional sports are supposed to serve children or be accessible to them.

Sorry, it isn’t for the kids.

Phillies tickets range from $17 to $80, and $35 will get you an average seat for a “good” game. The Phils have a three-tier ticket system divvying up games (i.e., cheaper prices for games midweek in May; promotional giveaways are more expensive).

Eagles tickets go for $75-$105.

Despite a lockout-shortened season, the Flyers prices are $83-$160.

The most economical choice is the Sixers, with $10 upper level and $40 lower level tickets available. Also, they offer family packs for four including soda and hot dogs starting at $60. Despite their reasonable prices they are the only one of the four professional teams that does not sell out regularly.

But they are the Sixers. Jrue Holiday, their best player, despite being young and talented, does not have the drawing power of a LeBron James or a Kevin Durant.

I have just mentioned the price of tickets. Not the price of parking ($15 for Phillies games, $25 for Eagles) or the eye-popping price of food (hot dog $5.50), soda ($5), or Chickie’s and Pete’s fries ($8). This does not make for an affordable night out with the family.

The teams do not care that bringing the wife and kids is going to put a dent in your wallet.

They would much rather you leave them at home and come with your friends. The friends who won’t give you the evil eye after you order your third beer or remind you of your cholesterol levels when you are in line at Tony Luke’s.

The Eagles have a 99.7 percent season-ticket renewal rate. The single-game tickets they release to the public sell out in minutes. The Phillies’ recent sellout record ended last year, but they continue to pack the park while charging $8.75 for a “premium” beer. Flyers tickets cost more than Eagles tickets, yet their blindly loyal fans continue to fill the Wells Fargo Center, paying $83 for a row 15 upper level seat.

Popular secondary ticket sellers like Stub Hub or Craigslist can offer huge discounts, especially if you can wait until the day of the game. It doesn’t help families in most cases.

“Forget about that science project due tomorrow, Jimmy! No ballet for your tonight, sweetheart! We’re going to see Kyle Kendrick pitch against the Marlins.”

Do not mistake this as defending the money-printing machine of professional sports. There is something intimate about witnessing the event live, to be amongst the throngs of fanatics just like yourself. My love of sports stemmed partly from participating but also because the connection I formed watching them with my father.

I may not remember the first time I sat next to him on the couch to watch, but I do remember my first Phillies game on Aug. 21, 1989. The Giant’s Ernest Riles hit a grand slam off Roger McDowell to give them the eventual 5-2 win. I cried when the ball towered over the left-field fence, causing my father to give me a stern warning: “You better get used to crying if you are Philly fan.”

Dad, as always, was right. Eleven years later, my friend and I took a road trip to watch the Flyers hopefully eliminate the Devils to punch their ticket to the Stanley Cup. Instead, the Devils dominated the Flyers and forced me to drive the New Jersey Turnpike fighting off tears and bellows of “will they ever win the Cup?”

But the worst, the darkest, was the two Eagles NFC Championship losses. The uncontrollable wailing, pouting and punching the cold concrete of the beer-soaked parking lot.

I didn’t go to the third when they finally won. It was going to be too cold and I feared I didn’t have a tear left to shed. Instead I gave the ticket to my father. He deserved to see what he did that freezing January night.

And me? I watched from the warmth of my home.

Crying.Katie Bambi Kohler is a Norristown native and a current resident of King of Prussia. Visit her blog at www.cheesesteakprincess.com. Follow her on Twitter @chzstkprincess.